The Unscrupulous Uncle (26 page)

Catherine said nothing. What was to be said, after all? Hermione was right. It was a fact that she had already accepted. Suppressing tears, she rose to leave.

“Cat got your tongue?” taunted Hermione.

“Not at all. You speak of social skills, but if this is an example of society manners, I can only rejoice that I was not raised to that standard. It is you who have succumbed to fantasy, my child. Take advice from someone both older and wiser. Damon’s affections are irrelevant – as are yours and mine. Marriages in our class are contracted for financial and dynastic reasons – a fact your governess must have taught you. Money and breeding may have bought you a high place in society, but your very obvious spite and overweening conceit are fast eroding your image. You make a further cake of yourself by publicly dangling after a married man. People are beginning to question your morals. Consider your future and cut your losses before you destroy your reputation.”

Fury flickered in Hermione’s eyes, but Catherine felt no pleasure at the sight. Love might not be a normal part of society unions, but she was trapped in a tangle of misplaced affections that was likely to destroy all three of them. Slipping out of the antechamber, she sent word to Louisa that she was tired, then returned home.

* * * *

Damon escorted Hermione back to her mother and thankfully escaped. She was thwarting his efforts to ease her back into the marriage mart. He had more than fulfilled his obligations to her. Three weeks was long enough to stifle gossip. In fact, her refusal to consider other suitors was harming her far more than his defection. Her possessiveness also disturbed him, for she had been charmingly conformable during their courtship. Now she followed him with her eyes when they were not together, and her tongue had developed an acidity he deplored. Had she changed? Or had he not seen her clearly?

He looked forward to the end of the Season when he and Catherine could return to Devlin. Events had unfolded too fast for either of them to make the necessary adjustments. With more time, he could have courted her, learning to see her as a wife. Society would have welcomed both her and their match. If only he had assumed his responsibilities earlier! But he had not, forcing them into scandals and distrust that had propelled them far down a road of confrontation. Backtracking would be difficult, if not impossible.

In the meantime, he had just recalled that Lord James had a genuine grievance against him. If not for Damon, the gentleman would have married Hermione. Retaliation would explain his attentions to Catherine and could also explain the pettier of the rumors.

“What do you know about the latest gossip?” he asked bluntly when he reached Hutchinson’s side. “I am tired of people attacking my wife.”

“So I am your latest candidate,” observed Lord James, his eyes blazing with anger. “How so cloth-headed an imbecile survived seven years of war is beyond my comprehension. You could use a few home truths, Devlin, but this is not the place.”

Damon was already itching to plant a fist in the dandy’s face. “After you.” He gestured toward the door.

They slipped through the crowd, dodging knots of chattering chaperones and several sets of country dancers until they finally escaped the ballroom. A footman directed them to an antechamber.

The corridor was empty, so Lord James began even before they reached the room. “Despite your suspicions, I have tried to deflect the gossip. If you had done the same, this would have blown over in days.”

“What nerve!”

“Think, Devlin! When you spend all your time dancing attendance on Lady Hermione and ignoring your wife, what are people to conclude?”

“But how could I stand aside and allow an innocent to bear the blame for my own mistakes?” Damon countered sharply. Yet the question put his behavior in a different light. Again he had chosen the wrong course. And again it was Catherine who was suffering for it.

“Altruism is not the impression you are leaving, Devlin. But if that is your reason, then perhaps you are ready to hear the truth.” They turned a corner, passing the retiring room. “Your most determined detractor is Sidney Braxton. He has a history of dishonor, including a plot to fleece my brother that I foiled just last month.”

“Damn! I only recently discovered his penchant for sharping. Is your brother all right?”

“He will recover, though I hope his pride remains bruised for a while. But my interference cost Braxton an expected windfall. He is badly in debt, which must be driving his current scheme – backing you into a tight enough corner that you will pay him to recant his charges.”

“Never!”

“Catherine swore that would be your answer.”

“She knows of this?”

“We have discussed it. All of her friends have been working to help her. It was not difficult to identify the culprits, for only two have any real grievance. Braxton started the truly malicious rumors. The petty sniping originates with Lady Hermione.”

“But—”

“She is selfish and willful,” continued Lord James, refusing to allow the interruption. “Your marriage triggered a childish tantrum. She cares not a fig for you personally, but she really wanted that title. Since she can’t have it, she is determined to make you both miserable.”

“I thought you cared for her.” Damon was reeling, though part of his mind was unsurprised, and another part berated him for not accepting the truth sooner.

“I do. I love her more than life, but I am not blind to her faults. My only hope is that she will accept my suit when her pique runs its course – which I expect to happen soon. She is damaging her own credit far more than yours. Lady Beatrice is furious with her. Believe me, you would have been miserable with such a wife.” He shut the anteroom door behind them and took a seat, motioning to the second chair.

“Damon loves only me,” a muffled voice declared in the next room.

Hermione,
Damon immediately identified, struck dumb as her taunting invective continued. He almost missed the soft murmur that finally responded.
Catherine!
Pressing his hands to his temples, he fought to control his rage. Hermione’s diatribe was even harsher than her public claims.

“Well?” whispered Hutchinson, glaring at the connecting door. “You are up at bat.”

“She deserves a set-down,” growled Damon.

“Agreed,” said Lord James with a nod. “Make it a good one. I would not mind if she collapsed in hysterics. Perhaps it is time for me to pick up the pieces. She will make the perfect wife for the life I enjoy.”

Damon examined the dandy from his elaborate cravat to his ballooning Cossack pants and admitted the truth. Lord James loved London’s glitter, and Hermione was the same. “I wish you luck in your quest. And joy in your future,” he said, holding out his hand.

Lord James grasped it firmly. “And you.”

“Thank you. I misjudged you, it seems. The affectations make it difficult to take you seriously. Hermione may have made the same mistake.” Without waiting for a response, he set his face in a grim smile and opened the door. Catherine was gone.

“Damon!” Hermione looked as if she would throw her arms around his neck.

“My lady,” he responded coldly.

She gasped before turning her most enchanting smile on him.

“Forget the wiles,” he ordered. “You seem to be laboring under a misconception. I do not and never will prefer you to Catherine, and if you do not cease slandering my wife, I will expose your spite to all of society.”

“But you love me,” she protested.

“You delude yourself.” He stared at her until her face reddened in mortification.

“Then why did you court me?” she whispered.

He shrugged. “I was told that Catherine had married some years ago. With the deaths of both of our families, we had lost contact with each other, so I had no way of discovering the truth. Having lost the one person I could truly love, I fell back on the time-honored tradition of choosing a convenience from the current crop of candidates. You should know that love plays little role in the Marriage Mart, Lady Hermione. I looked for a young, conformable girl who would quickly learn not to interfere with my ways. All I needed was an heir and a housekeeper for Devlin Court. A peaceful life in the country demands no more. It is lowering to discover that my judgment was faulty, for you are nothing like I imagined. Fortunately, I learned that Catherine was unwed before I could make a grievous mistake. I have tried to remove the blemish my actions placed on your reputation, for I owed you that much, but I will not tolerate your vulgar, ill-bred, and childish spite. There is no excuse for it. You know full well that you never cared for me. Your only hurt was to your considerable conceit, for you possess not a shred of heart.”

“You understand nothing!” she spat. Her hands spread into talons, as they had done in one of his nightmares. “How can I hold up my head when an earl, of all things, leads the
ton
to expect a betrothal and then jilts me? You have harmed me more than your puny mind can comprehend. I hope she makes your life miserable for the rest of your days! I hope your heir resembles your groom! I hope—” But tears overcame her, and she collapsed onto the couch, sobbing in despair.

“Good-bye, my lady,” he said formally. “If there is any taint attached to your name, you are responsible. Few would have considered your reputation besmirched for more than the proverbial nine days if you had not made such a Cheltenham tragedy of it. Perhaps you will eventually grow up enough to realize how ridiculous your behavior appears to adult eyes.” Turning on his heel, he strode out of the room, leaving a sputtering Hermione behind. As the door closed, her contrived sobs exploded into hysterics.

“Good work,” murmured Lord James, peeking out of the next room. “You needn’t concern yourself with her again.”

“I won’t.” He glanced back to the room where Hermione still wailed, raising one brow.

“I’ll let her cry awhile. I can’t abide hysterics. Besides, it will do her good to start fearing for her future.”

Damon nodded and left. His words to Hermione had been true, though he had chosen them only to make a point. He loved Catherine – had loved her all his life. Though he had long thought of her as a sister, his feelings had changed before he left for the Peninsula. He had not noted it at the time – indeed he was not even sure exactly when it had occurred. But it had happened. It was why the promise to Peter had been unnecessary. Somewhere deep in his mind, he had pictured himself always caring for her. And how was he to do so without marrying her?

Stupid,
he condemned himself. If only he had had time to think before proposing. Now he was a month into an unconsummated marriage during which he had done little but argue with her.
Idiot!

“Have you seen Catherine?” he asked Jack, running his friend to ground in the refreshment room.

“Not since before supper. Might she have left?”

Damon sighed. “I will go see. Hermione rang a peal over her head. I never realized how childish the girl is. I have set her straight, but Cat has to be distressed. She only rose from a sickbed today. If you find her here, would you escort her back to Berkeley Square?”

“Of course. And it is time someone exposed Lady Hermione’s spite to the world,” dared Jack.

“Not yet,” begged Damon, defusing his friend’s exasperation by adding, “I believe she may shortly change her tune. Let me know what happens when she returns to the ballroom. If she publicly recants her tales, she deserves forgiveness and support.”

Taking leave of his hostess, Damon turned his feet toward home. But a further shock awaited him. Catherine had returned from the ball and immediately ordered out the traveling coach. She was gone.

Chapter Seventeen

Catherine climbed down from the carriage and dismissed her driver, ordering him to return to London. She waited until he was out of sight before picking up her valise and setting off along the Ridgway House drive.

Pain and grief had plagued her for two days as she floundered in an interminable hell of memories. Her eyes saw only Damon’s carefree smile as he waltzed with the woman he loved. Her ears rang with taunts, rumors, and innuendo. Her half-healed injuries throbbed harder with every jolt from the road.

Hermione’s attack had been the last straw. She could not tolerate another moment of society’s censure. Damon’s coachman had been out when she’d returned from the ball, a bit of luck that prompted her immediate departure. Brigit had also had the night off, but Cat had refused to wait until the maid returned lest delay lead to another battle with Damon. She’d not been up to arguing that night. So she’d ordered a groom to harness the traveling carriage.

Ridgway was merely a temporary shelter until she could decide what to do. Very temporary. She must be gone before Damon returned to Devlin Court. For now, she would claim that she was inspecting the house. The Braxtons had inflicted enough wear and tear to keep the servants from asking questions for several days. Damon would remain in town until the end of the Season, leaving her safe for a time.

She had noticed nothing during her walk through the park, but she frowned at the front door. No one answered her knock. Even more shocking, it was unlocked.

“Dear God!”

The great hall was in shambles. The suit of armor that had always stood against the curve of the stairs was scattered across the floor in twisted, barely recognizable pieces. Chairs and tables were reduced to kindling. Gouges marred the paneling, and chips disfigured marble tiles. Her eyes stung as she moved from room to room, the story the same in each – broken furniture, ripped upholstery and draperies, wallcoverings damaged beyond repair. Glass crunched under her half-boots as she crossed the dining room. Slashes savaged portraits, especially the picture of her father. Upstairs she found shredded mattresses, cracked mirrors, and debris littering floors. At least the destruction was limited to the public rooms and family sleeping quarters. An older wing was untouched.

Spite. She had been subjected to too much of it lately. This could only be the work of her family, who must have also turned off the servants. Her head shook. So much beauty destroyed. The paneling alone was over two hundred years old. No matter how much of her fortune had survived her uncle’s depredations, she doubted it would cover the cost of restoration.